Windup Man
by The Cocky Undead
Summary: Joe is locked up because he helped John. John offers him a way out, and even if Joe doesn't want to accept, he doesn't have a choice.


**[Windup Man]**

Joe's world was crumbling around him. It had started when Obergruppenführer John Smith told him Juliana had died. A small crack had appeared from that bit of news, but it only grown larger after Joe had left New York to go to Berlin where he met his father and learned of his true heritage. Everything that Joe had thought he had known had never been true and Joe hadn't been able to process that.

Joe had thought maybe it would start to fix itself after he had grown closer to his father and accepted who he was, but that was only an illusion. Smith brought his world crumbling again when he told him Juliana was alive—good news, yes, but something that caused Joe's new life to abruptly split in two.

But it wasn't until Smith told Joe the truth of his father's actions that Joe's world imploded. Everything he had thought he had grown to know about the man hadn't been true. Not only that, but the life that Joe had begun to accept was gone and he was left with nothing once again.

Joe squeezed his eyes shut against the dim lighting in the room he had been thrown into. He didn't know where his father was, but Joe wasn't even sure he cared. Heusmann had been lying to him, making Joe believe that he was a good man with nothing but the Reich's best intentions in his heart. Joe wasn't sure he could forgive Heusmann again for making him care; because even with no desire to see his father, Joe did care. How could he not? The man was his father and even amidst all the lies, he had shown Joe kindness and perhaps even a tentative love. Forgiveness didn't seem like an option, but Joe would never stop caring for his father.

Joe pushed those thoughts aside. He pulled his knees up to his chest. The fabric of his pants pulling tight against his legs as he pressed them against his beating heart. It had already been hours, or maybe it was days, since Joe had been thrown into the room, but his heart had refused to stop its wild gallop.

Joe swallowed and pressed his hands into his thick hair, tugging at the roots. The sharp pain helped him focus on the present.

There was a muffled sound outside his door, and then a moment later, his door opened.

Joe's eyes opened slowly, but he didn't look up from his hunched position on the cot. The most he could see was a pair of shiny black boots and pants. The boots stayed motionless in front of him, clearly waiting for Joe to make a move first.

Well fuck them, him, the boots, whatever. Joe figured he deserved a little moment of despair or whatever the hell it was that he was doing.

"Joe?"

Joe blinked; of course it would be him. Who else would it be?

Slowly, Joe lifted his head, letting his hands drop to his side. He curled his fingers into the blanket on his cot as he stared up at Obergruppenführer Smith standing in front of him. Smith looked tired and worn. His cheeks were pale and drawn, stark against the black of his uniform. His hat was in his hand as he looked down at Joe. His eyebrows drew down into a slight frown.

"Have they done anything to you, Joe?"

The question seemed to come from far away, and Joe shook his head, trying to get himself to snap out of this fog that had clouded his head. If he wanted to survive this, he would need to start paying attention to what was going on around him and start reacting.

"No," Joe finally said, his voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat. "I haven't seen anyone since they threw me in here."

"You're in shock," Smith said, eyes raking Joe's huddled form.

Joe snorted, straightening a little. "Yeah."

"You shouldn't be. You saved our country, Joe," Smith continued. "You should be proud of at least that." He paused, giving Joe another long look. "You saved her."

Anger flared in Joe's chest and he shook his head, letting his legs drop down to the cot. "You don't get to use that," Joe snapped. "Not again."

Smith shrugged, indifferent to Joe's anger. "It worked, and you did what needed to be done so that she would live. Not only did you save her, but you saved your home. I'm not using her against you, Joe. I'm just telling you the facts."

Joe glared up at Smith, wishing that he could stand up and face Smith head on, but he knew that he would never be on the same level of Smith. Smith had always been five steps ahead of Joe, using him, manipulating him.

"What's going to happen to me?" he finally asked. "My father?"

Smith considered Joe's question, shifting slightly. His grip on his hat tightened. "Your father will be executed."

Joe's heart stuttered and he couldn't stop the slight puff of air that left his lips. He knew that it had been the only outcome for what his father had attempted, but it didn't stop the shock from settling back into his bones at Smith's words.

Smith offered him a sympathetic half-smile. "There's no other option for him. He's a traitor, who killed the Führer and attempted to take over the Reich." Smith paused and then said in a softer voice, "I'm sorry, Joe. I know how long you've waited to meet him, to get to know him. To have that taken away from you after only a short time will be hard, I know."

"You don't know shit," Joe managed, trying to hold onto the anger that had been blown out the moment the words of his father's fate left Smith's lips.

Smith disregarded this. "But you're better off without him. He would have only brought you down to his level, and you would have died alongside him."

Joe didn't bother pointing out that both he and his father probably wouldn't have ever been caught if Smith hadn't come to Berlin.

"So I'm not going to die?" Joe asked after a brief moment. He found that it didn't bother him much if he was going to be killed.

"No, of course not," Smith said. Some color had returned to his cheeks, and his voice had grown stronger over the course of their conversation. "You're much too valuable to the Reich to kill."

Joe frowned, head cocking to the side; he was the son of a traitor. What value could he offer the Reich?

"You're lebensborn."

Joe's breath hitched again and he pressed further back against the wall, feeling the cold stone bite into his skin through his thin shirt.

"Although, there are many that do not believe in the program anymore, most still see you and the rest as our ideal people. There aren't many of you left, Joe, so killing you would be a waste."

Joe's mouth worked, as he ran through Smith's words. "What's going to happen to me?"

Smith shook his head. "I'm not sure, Joe, but you will not be killed."

Joe wasn't sure if that was cause for joy; if he remained in Berlin only because he was lebensborn, he didn't want to think about what role he might have to play because of that. He didn't want to be used by anyone; he had been used since the beginning of this whole thing. First by Smith and then by his father, Joe didn't want to be passed on to the next player to do as they pleased with him. He wasn't going to let that happen.

Something shifted inside Joe and a burning desire to live suddenly flared. Not to just survive, but to live.

"What about you?" Joe asked, eyes flicking up to the other man's. "What are you going to do?"

"I will return home to New York."

"To your family?"

"Yes." Smith's face twitched a little at Joe's mention of his family, but Joe couldn't figure out what that might mean. Instead, he filed that small break in Smith's shield away for later.

Joe took a shallow breath and then plunged on. "You said, I was something like a son to you." His fingers tightened around the blanket.

Smith's head cocked slightly, a small smile quirking his lips as if he knew what Joe was trying to do, but was willing to let it happen.

"I wasn't lying, Joe. You have been like a son to me."

Joe let his features slowly start to crumble piece by piece. "I don't want to stay here. I don't...I don't want to be used by them." He took a quick breath. "Please—" He choked off the rest of his words, letting his head press back against the stone wall, staring up to the ceiling of the room. His eyes were burning with unshed tears and he knew that they were shiny and glistening in the faint light.

"Please, what, Joe?" Smith's voice had softened.

Joe swallowed and wiped a rough hand across his eyes as he looked back to Smith. The other man was giving Joe an unreadable look, but if the sound of his voice was any indication, Joe knew that he needed to keep going.

"Please, let me come home," Joe whispered, leaning forward towards Smith. He lifted one hand from his cot, reaching out to Smith, before he aborted the motion and let it fall to his lap. "I don't want to be here."

"You want to come home with me?" Smith asked carefully.

Joe waited a beat before nodding jerkily.

Smith stared down at Joe, and for one brief moment Joe thought maybe he had succeeded, but then Smith shook his head, letting out a short laugh.

"Oh, Joe," he said, practically wagging a finger at Joe as if the other man was a naughty child. "You did have me believing you for a moment there, but I know you too well."

Joe's fingers dug into the thin blanket as he threw up a slightly confused look on his face, letting tears pool again at the corners of his eyes.

"You don't care about New York," Smith continued, "you made that abundantly clear earlier."

"No," Joe shook his head rapidly. "I do care. I'll always care. I just didn't want to give you what you wanted." The much was the truth; Joe did care about his home, but he hadn't wanted to help Smith with anything.

Smith's lips twitched again. "You don't care about me." He said it as if he was reading off a list.

Joe didn't bother denying it. "No." He waited a beat and then said, "But that doesn't mean I don't respect you, or see what you've done for what you believe in."

"And what have I done?" Smith asked, almost amused.

"You saved our home, like you said," Joe said, feeling his control slipping away. "You played me, but you did what you had to for the good of the Reich. I understand that."

"But you can't forgive it?"

Joe licked his lips. "I don't know." He did know; he would never forgive the man for what he had done.

"So where does that leave us, Joe?" Smith asked. "You care about your home, but not about me, and yet you want to use me to return home by using my feelings towards you."

Yes.

"No," Joe said, scooting forward on his bed. He shook his head as earnestly as he was able. "I don't want to use you...I just want your help."

"So you can go home." Smith paused, giving Joe a pointed look. "For her."

Joe swallowed, starting to shake his head again, but Smith cut that off, raising his hand.

"You want to use me to go home to her," Smith repeated.

Joe let his confused and tearstained face slip away, anger rising again. "I heard you the first time." He raked a hand down his face, feeling the wetness of his false tears and the scratch of his stubble against his hand.

Smith did smile this time, apparently delighted at Joe's switch of emotions. "You're getting very good, Joe. I knew there was a reason I used you when this all started." He paused, tapping his hat against his thigh thoughtfully. "I could still use a man like you."

Hope blossomed in Joe's chest again.

"But I could never trust you," Smith continued.

The hope faltered.

"And I can't keep men around me that I don't trust."

The hope crumbled and died.

Joe slumped back. "So you'll leave me to my fate here." It wasn't a question.

Smith took a step forward. Joe followed the movement, muscles tensing. Smith looked down at him, blue eyes unreadable.

"No."

Joe frowned. "No?" he repeated.

"No, I will not leave you here," Smith said. "You've already listed one reason I won't leave you to the whim of the men here: you are like a son to me." Smith let out a laugh. "Granted a son that doesn't trust me or like me, but nevertheless a son."

"The other reasons?" Joe asked, heart beginning to beat against his ribs again.

"You're lebsonborn, something that will be useful to me."

Joe's lips thinned, but he didn't say anything.

"And lastly," Smith said carefully. "There are ways to make a man trust and obey."

Joe frowned slightly. He had heard the stories; he knew what Smith was talking about.

"You mean brainwashing and torture?" Joe asked, deciding that going home with Smith wasn't much better than staying in Berlin. "Am I really worth all that work?" Work that had never even been confirmed as far as Joe knew; it wasn't a guaranteed process.

"Yes," Smith said, unblinking. "You are."

Joe stared up at the other man, ice and dread filling his veins. "Are they really going to just let you take me out of here?"

"First you believe that I can get you out and now you don't?" Smith asked, amused, rocking back on his heels. "And yes, they will. I just saved the Reich; they are in debt to me. That debt will be paid with your release into my custody."

Fuck. Joe took a breath. He wasn't going to get out of this. Either way he was going to be used by powerful men; he would never have control over his life again. The control that Joe had thought he had been gaining faded away and he was empty handed, once again at the mercy of the men around him.

"Am I worth that?" Joe asked again, his voice dropping to a whisper as his faint hope blew away. He looked up at Smith, real tears pricking at the edges of his eyes.

Smith leaned down, reaching a hand down to grip the back of Joe's neck. His hazel eyes stared into Joe's blue ones, conveying his sincerity. "Yes."

With that single word, Joe knew that he was well and truly fucked.

Smith stepped back, turning slightly and nodding to a man outside the door. He then stepped aside as the guard came inside and roughly pulled Joe to his feet. He was shoved past Smith, who watched Joe leave.

Joe resisted against the arms for a moment. "John." The name felt wrong on his lips.

Smith quirked an eyebrow.

"I..." but Joe had nothing left to say; his life was no longer his own and nothing he said was going to change that.

"Don't worry, Joe," Smith said as Joe was shoved again. "Things will change when we return home, for the better, I promise."

Promise? Joe doubted that.

"Yeah," he said, facing the hall with the guard and Smith at his back. "Okay."

He let himself be dragged away, leaving Smith behind him, but not for long.

Joe's mouth formed the word and he let it out with a breath of air, "Fuck." The word seemed to convey his feelings on what was happening well, but that was all it was: a word. It wouldn't change anything. Joe was to become Smith's windup man, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

* * *

A/N: I absolutely love this show and I wrote this almost as soon as I finished the second season, but I didn't post it because I wasn't sure about it, though I'm actually really happy with how it turned out even though I'm not sure how realistic it actually is. But whatever.

I really just wanted to write something to help me wait for the next season and I really love Joe and Smith's relationship. It's so interesting and I wanted to attempt to write that here, hopefully it turned out okay.

I don't expect many people to read this because I feel like TMITHC has a really small fandom, so because of that this is probably only going to stay as a one-shot. Though, I honestly could see writing more for this, but if I'm not going to get feedback on it, I'm just going to leave it alone for now because like I said, I'm really happy with how it turned out and don't feel like I need to write more.

Anyway. Please let me know what you think!


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